Bad is Good and Good is Bad
by split-n-splice
Summary: Sometimes those who are bad do good while those who are good do bad with good intentions. A kidnapping and a brief encounter between villain wannabe and a hero-to-be. Pre-Team Go. (Revised and updated Feb 2020!)
1. Chapter 1

Just thinking about origins, adjusting to new powers, and toying with the idea that they go "way back" even if they aren't exactly old friends. Strictly avoiding using names on purpose, my apologies if the she/he gets tiring.  
Continues in _The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie_ and _The Company You Keep. _Fic art found on tumblr at _Split-n-Splice._

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**Chapter 1**

Save for the rhythm of her own breath and the hum of a fluorescent she'd grown deaf to, her chambers had been dead silent for hours on end until the lull was broken by the long-awaited click of the lock and the quiet swish of the door opening.

"Subject B?" came the wavering call of an uncertain man.

The teenager's lip almost quirked into a smirk. Almost. _Fresh meat,_ she thought wryly.

Her arms were bent uncomfortably over her head, shielding her eyes from the infinite light above as she lay on her cot. For quite some time now, she'd had nothing better to do other than sleep until she ached and then some. If only sleep was easy to come by.

The footsteps neared. "I'm your, uhm. Psychiatrist." He waited. She'd leave him hanging, she decided. "Hello? Are you awake?" Another moment passed. The footsteps began to retreat, and she heard him mutter impatiently to himself, "I must be in the wrong sector."

The girl sat upright then with great exertion, lifting a heavy cast over her head. She slumped forward and glowered down to her hands secured and bound together in the slipshod plaster cocoon before squinting up against the searing white light as a man in a crisp blue suit came into focus.

"M'name's not _Subject B,"_ she rasped, voice hoarse from thirst and lack of use. A far more interesting glass of water on the homey little nightstand beside her cot drew her attention away from the stranger, reminding her how parched she was. She'd been encouraged to break her strike for a while now – she'd lost count of the days she'd been on it, honestly – and though she was presently hooked to an IV to treat dehydration, she was still holding fast to her conditions: let her go or she'd find a way to self-destruct. So far the tactic wasn't working.

Her visitor said something she didn't catch – the damn water had her fixated. She could have – should have – knocked it over hours ago, or maybe days ago, but what if another glass never came—?

The girl shook her head and tore her eyes away from the tempting glass. She scrunched her nose as if smelling something foul as she studied the spectacled man again. "You look too young to be a psychiatrist," she deadpanned. "Mommy still do your laundry? Looks like she dresses you too."

Something she said must have struck a nerve. "Listen, you snot-nosed little brat—" the man began, but she lurched to her feet. The wobble of her knees couldn't have been threatening but her glare must have done something. She liked to think so anyway.

"This _snot-nosed little brat_ left yesterday's psychiatrist's face looking like a Picasso," she hissed venomously, and raised her trapped hands a little as evidence before dropping them. "So watch your mouth." She couldn't do much to him in her present state, but he seemed on edge just enough for threats alone to be sufficient.

When she took a step forward, IV stand scooting along with her, the man took a step back. Her eyes darted to the floor. She almost smiled, but he was talking again. "Is that what that is about?" He gestured with his clipboard to her bound hands. "Why?"

The girl arched her brow at the perplexed inquiry. There wasn't an inkling of sarcasm. She looked down to the plaster keeping her primary means of defense at bay. She was sure she could burn the cast off, but not without burning herself again in the process. Her skin was already raw and blistered from earlier attempts to burn her way to freedom. Having a go at her last doctor had been the last straw. They'd said the improvised cast was only a temporary quick fix. They'd said it was to keep her from hurting herself, like a cone on a dog – but that had been a load. The burns lacing her palms and knuckles might have gotten the attention they needed if she weren't so obstinate, but she'd hardly let anyone near enough to check on her in days.

She'd been a lab rat under observation for months – ever since the organization holding her in custody had caught wind of something extraterrestrial practically leveling her neighborhood. She hadn't been compliant with their studies.

The snapping of fingers made her blink. An almost concerned look crossed the man's face. He was stupid enough to take a step closer. He opened his mouth to repeat the question but she cut him off.

"If you'd read my file, you would know what it's for." She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion as he scrambled to flip through the scant pages on his clipboard. "There was even a hazard sign posted outside the door, last I saw."

"I – uh – I'm just making small talk. Of course, I've read your file," he said, a tentative smile quivering.

The girl glanced to the floor again, to the painted red caution line marking the boundary behind him, and a second marking a boundary through the center of the barren room between them, her own personal _invisible fence._ If he was a stuttering idiot because he was scared, he would have taken the proper precautions when confronting her. She did the math. Something didn't add up right. "Then you wouldn't have crossed the line," she stated in a quiet mutter, eyes fixating on the particular warning line three steps behind him. Personnel without guards were unauthorized to cross it, and as of yet, no doctor had even risked seeing her alone.

Dragging the IV stand behind her, she approached the center of the room, the invisible barrier clear only to her. The tingle of a thick mechanical collar around her throat became noticeable, heating up in warning.

"Line?" uttered the young man, face scrunching as he looked down and all around. By the time he'd noticed them, the warning lines, the sound of her hacking something made his spectacled eyes snap back to her.

She really didn't want to encourage being _muzzled_ too, but she was in a bad mood. Without pausing to think twice, she spat what could only be described as a _plasma loogie_ his way. The man leapt back with a startled yelp, both disgusted and frightened as the green flame bubbled and burned itself out in a tiny pit in the linoleum. Her throat burned like she'd swallowed a hot coal and she choked on the aftertaste, but it had been worth it for the look on the stranger's face.

Her eyes watered. The glass of water had never been more tempting. "How's that for snot-nosed, huh?" she coughed, caught between laughter and choking. She smiled wider than she had in days, or maybe _weeks._ How long had she been here? Long enough for her hair to grow back long enough to tickle her ears again. She didn't want to think about it.

She focused her heated glare back on the livid man, who now stood a safe distance out of her spitting range marked clearly in the floor by a dozen other divots and of course the red paint. _"Why, you little!"_ he seethed, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

"You're not the shrink they sent to get inside my head," she decided, making her way back to her cot. "So who are you?" Talking was getting to be too exhausting, but she could use some relief from the monotony of this hell of solitary confinement. They'd tried to give her a television and other enrichment, but that had been one of the things she'd fired at that had gotten her hands bound up. They kept telling her to behave and cooperate like Subjects A and C and they'd let her go in no time – but she had her doubts and had become increasingly volatile since this had all started a month or two or three or more ago. She didn't even know if her brothers had really been released or if something worse had befallen them. She hadn't seen them since they were put into custody for observation.

The man said something else she didn't catch as she flopped down in her cot and instantly regretted doing so a little bit, the jolt making her body ache ever more and the IV tug in her arm. She leaned awkwardly on her elbows to study the glass at eye level, resting her chin on the nightstand. She had the worst case of heartburn right now. Her eyes stung.

She expected the man to be done with this session and leave to tattle on her for spitting acid at him. To at least take some notes if he was, in fact, her new psychiatrist. _Something._

But after a moment and a thoughtful hum, his footsteps neared instead, crossing the warning line again.

The girl twisted around to glare back incredulously at him. He held the clipboard under his arm and was fidgeting with something with an antenna in his palm. "Why don't we take a little walk, Subject B?" he suggested.

She thought she recognized what he held but she wasn't sure, maybe it was just a radio or—

"No thanks, I'm good," she said quickly, scrambling to her knees and pressing herself into the farthest corner, folding her legs up to her chest. Her heart started to pound.

What was this sketchy doctor playing at? He must realize he was playing with fire. Was he brave or just stupid?

She tried to swallow as he approached but she was too parched. She couldn't even draw upon the green alien fire to spit in defense this time.

In the back of her mind, the state of her dress became a concern and she squeezed her legs tighter to her chest. A dress – that was all they gave her – a dress and nothing else, no shoes, no underwear, just the bare necessity to keep her decent. Suddenly the dress didn't concern her anymore. Pants never warded off grubby hands much anyway, she supposed.

Flight wasn't an option. Fight kicked in.

The man had a lot of gall to reach down for her, but she kicked out at him, targeting his groin but her heel making contact with his stomach instead. It knocked the wind out of him at least, and for a split second she fancied the thought of cracking the cast open like a coconut on his stupid head – but he was recovering too soon, and frankly she was too exhausted from malnutrition to fight a grown man, even a sort of scrawny one like him.

He glared hard down at her and held up the device to wiggle mockingly. She blanched. It was exactly what she'd thought it was – it went to the damned _obedience collar_ locked around her neck to keep her under control for those special occasions she went batshit. It even kept her behind the invisible barrier. He must have seen the fear flicker in her eyes because he grinned maliciously.

Her stomach turned.

"You know, _it's funny,"_ he ground out, not particularly amused as he stood back and held the device out of reach when she lunged for it, forgetting for a second that she couldn't grab at things in this state. His hand on her head was enough to hold her at bay. She could have bitten him. She wanted to. She scowled instead and threw herself back against the wall, legs tucked tight again. "When I stole it, I thought this was the remote to the inexhaustible nuclear weapon I heard rumor of Global Justice obtaining. It goes to something alright, but I'm not sure about the weapon being inexhaustible. Or nuclear. Hm."

He studied the remote as if it determining the ripeness of a piece of fruit in a produce aisle, and then looked back down at her. "Oh well," he sang, idly spinning a knob of settings like some sort of wheel of misfortune that made her heart thunder. "I suppose it still functions for the intended purpose, but I wasn't expecting the weapon to be some kid."

The sick bastard was just plain taunting her now. "I'm a _freshman,"_ she snapped. Or at least she was supposed to be.

She didn't have time to argue about it, bracing herself again to thrash when the questionable doctor stooped over her a second time.

The man was wrestling her for her arms now. "Don't be a pill! I'm as displeased about this as you are," the man assured her unsympathetically.

She tried screaming, even though she knew her chances of getting any help were slim to none. She'd already cried wolf countless hours before – so any guards in the area were desensitized to her screams and whoever was on monitor duty must be napping on the clock or there would have been an intervention by now.

"What are you _doing?"_ she squawked, writhing and kicking, but her weak legs were useless in prying off her assailant.

"You don't need this where we're going. Just – ow! _Stop that!"_

A headbutt only dealt her more harm than him. She was dazed just long enough for him to get a grip on her, and she nearly resumed her thrashing again until she realized his target was the IV in her arm. She went rigid then. She wasn't keen on having it simply ripped out. She hadn't eaten in days but she felt like puking when she finally surrendered, if only for the moment. Pressing her face to the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sight. It didn't help knowing he was holding the remote carelessly between his teeth now as he worked to remove the catheter – she didn't want to think about the voltage burns that could be inflicted by the accidental press of a button.

The vinegar breath and entire weight of his presence backed off suddenly, the foreign object dislodged from her flesh as well. She stared at the little piece of gauze taped over the site, a dot of blood blooming already.

_"Now,"_ said the man with an exhausted huff of frustration as he stood back from her. He tried to smooth his hair back into place and pointed the remote at the door. "How about that walk?" His eyes narrowed at her bare feet as the cautious girl put them on the floor. "I don't suppose you have any shoes—?"

"No."

"Huh. You know, you'd really think they'd be more hospitable than that," he uttered, stupefied for a second. She didn't have a chance to ask him to clarify who _they_ were. The man shook his head then and shuffled away, fidgeting with the controller and then aiming it back at her.

The girl tensed when she saw his thumb hover over the control pad and heard the tiny _beep._

She waited.

There was no electric shock, no heat, no choking – nothing they'd used against her to get her under control when typical civilized methods failed.

There was, however, the sudden absence of a barely-perceivable vibration she'd grown numb to.

She started to reach for her throat, blinking in surprise, but remembered about her plaster-bound hands and dropped them. She stretched her jaw instead and tried to swallow, readjusting to the missing sensation. "Would feel better if it was off," she rasped.

The sketchy doctor was leaned out the door, peeking into the hall. He scoffed as he looked back at her incredulously. "I don't think so."

"Can't blame me for trying," she sighed.

"Let's go, Subject B."

"I have a name."

He sighed impatiently and rolled his wrist at her in encouragement. "Then _what is it?"_ he demanded in a hiss.

No question about it. Her eyes narrowed at the phony doctor's back as she followed two steps behind him down the blinding white halls. "Are you kidding me?" she balked. "It's on my paperwork." She knew that much, even if she hadn't been called by name in months. And in any case, phony or not, he should have at least known what he was targeting.

"Yes, well, I didn't read them, so—"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't. You're not a real doctor."

"Am too."

"Are not."

"You little sh—_shush!"_ he snipped under his breath, whirling on her. He might have poked her in the chest with a sharp finger if she was standing any closer, but instead he jabbed at the air. "I demand you behave yourself and act natural. Don't make me use the, the uh—" He waved the device menacingly. _"This."_

"Obedience collar," she supplied. The young man glowered, nostrils flaring, holding his tongue. She sighed, shoulders sagging. "Whatever. I'll play along." It should be pretty fun when he got busted and it sure beat sitting around doing nothing for another day, she decided.

_"Thank you,"_ he said, spinning back around.

A couple minutes passed as she followed the man through twisting corridors and security doors that took a mere sweep of a card to open. It was soon clear he'd lost his sense of direction by his frown. "You don't know what you're doing, do you?" she whispered behind him, making him jump. "You didn't think this through at all."

"I – I did too," he hissed back. His hands flailed in the air, gesturing at her in frustration. "I just wasn't expecting – _augh!"_ He bit back a curse and skulked ahead, hands still flapping. "You were supposed to be a _thing._ Like a gun or something."

"Sorry I'm inconvenient." She rolled her eyes. "What do you plan to do with me?"

The man glared over his shoulder and swiped his pass card again. "Keep moving."

She wasn't one to be rushed, and certainly not by a bumbling idiot. He looked about ready to throw her over his shoulder to speed things up, but she doubted he had the muscle to do so. Then again, she'd lost quite a bit of weight recently. She was probably as light as an armful of kindling by now. She certainly felt like a walking stick anyway.

Following the stupid black mop ahead of her became the only thing keeping her legs moving, like following the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. She was zoning out again, the man's complaints never quite reaching her ears. Every once in a while, the sketchy young doctor looked back to frown at her or wave the remote in threat, and his grip wrapped around her arm at one point to all but drag her along when she paused to rest.

They passed legitimate personnel, typical doctors and science geeks in white lab coats, in the hall at one point, and she was vaguely aware of the intruder beside her straightening up and fixing his pokerface. _Act natural._ Whatever that meant. She walked along, feet dragging on the cold linoleum, like the prisoner she was, on her way to whatever destination her phony doctor had prescribed for her.

And then they were outside. The hot air hit her like a wall, every fiber of her being soaking up the evening sunlight. She had to stop to enjoy the moment, even if the blacktop was searing hot underfoot. It was nothing compared to the fire she'd been burdened with.

She was being manhandled again, shoved into a car and pushed down to the floorboard. "Hide there until I give the all-clear," the phony doctor instructed, throwing his jacket down at her face. She got the hint. She was being smuggled out. She had her doubts how well it would work, and almost voiced her criticism from beneath the cover when she heard a spoken exchange above.

She held her breath. Crouching beneath a glovebox like some sort of lumpy painfully-obvious frog had to be one of the stupidest things she'd done, but it was too late to suggest the trunk as a better hiding place.

Moments after the brief chat with the gatekeeper, there was a light rap against her head and she climbed out of the cranny, collapsing back into the passenger seat and heaving a sigh from all the exertion.

"So what flavor of hell does my new captor have for me?" she wondered idly, head lolling to study the man. "Rape, murder, desecration – the standard procedure? Wow me already. _Say something. _Cripes you're boring. You're not very good at kidnapping."

He pushed his glasses back up his button nose, grimaced, and shook his head. He was chewing on something he didn't want to say.

As they hit the highway, he almost commanded she put on her seatbelt, but she held up her bound hands before he could finish the word, and he groaned, reaching over to fumble for it himself to stretch over her awkwardly.

_"Thanks,"_ she said dryly.

He only grunted in reply.

She slumped uncomfortably against the window, the vibration of the wheels covering ground soon lulling her effortlessly to dreamland.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She was shaken awake but was reluctant to blink open her heavy eyelids. Dazed, it took her a moment to gather she was in a car – but not the family station wagon – and she was in shotgun for once – and those weren't her dad's fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. And the driver with a hand on her shoulder was _definitely_ not her dad.

She startled, slamming into the door with a shout of surprise at the stranger beside her. The binding around her hands was a grim reminder then, and she took a deep breath to calm herself as recent events came back to her through the fog.

Her new abductor was staring at her, perturbed. The spectacled man shook his head in exasperation and held out an offering. A disposable cup with some 24-hour coffee shop logo printed on the side. She only narrowed her eyes at it in questioning, and then up at him.

"Cocoa moo," he said, taking a sip of his own. "I give you my word I didn't tamper with it." He gave the offering a shake to slosh the contents, as if to tempt her.

The girl twisted to get a look at her surroundings. It was dusk, and they were idling at the exit of a drive-through coffeehouse. "What?" she uttered, for lack of a better word.

She didn't miss her phony doctor rolling his eyes. _"Chocolate milk,"_ he reiterated with a heavy sigh. "With whipped cream."

Grimacing, she turned her nose up at it. "I don't like chocolate," she said. It was a kneejerk reaction to reject candy from a stranger. Her stomach pleaded with her to reconsider.

"All kids like chocolate," the man scoffed.

"Well I'm not like other kids."

"I can see that." He grunted irritably and shoved it toward her face again. "Take the damn thing before you pass out on me again. I'm not hanging onto it forever. I don't have cup holders."

"I'm lactose intolerant."

The man stamped a foot in irritation. "What did I say about being a pill?" he groused. He held the cup toward his open window instead. "Be that way. If you don't want it—"

The need for sustenance finally got to her, catching even her by surprise. "No!" she sputtered. "I'll take it."

The cross man cocked his overgrown eyebrow at her. "Still lactose intolerant?"

"I lied," she admitted shamelessly, but was rewarded nonetheless.

"That's a relief, because I'm not making any more pit stops."

She fumbled clumsily with the drink held between her wrists, glaring out the window and hating seeing her new captor's reflection here. She supposed she had better get used to it though, and after a while she decided to turn her head to look straight at him instead, glaring at the man faintly illuminated by the dash and ever-shifting light of fellow travelers on the dark highway.

He couldn't take her staring, or maybe the grating slurping noise when she reached the bottom of the cup, for long before shooting daggers over at her. _"Do you mind?" _he ground out.

"Not at all." She resumed making noises with her cup for the sake of being a nuisance now, watching his eye twitch and the tendons in his hands flex.

His lips pressed tight to stifle a retort and his face scrunched as he clawed at his hair with one hand, the other securely on the wheel.

"So, Doc, you figure out what you're gonna do with me yet?"

The man made a noise of exasperation, throwing his hands up for a second before slamming them both firmly back on the wheel. He otherwise didn't answer her. His eyes were wide but tired. She had a sneaking suspicion he was scared, that he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

She hoped he choked.

He hadn't thought this through at all, she was sure, and she was determined to savor that idiocy until he inevitably turned on her as could be expected of any typical kidnapper. "Say, uh, Doc?" she called over, reveling in watching him edge closer to insanity. "You got a real name, or an alias or something, or am I just supposed to call you _the Doctor?_ Because I'm gonna say it now, calling you the Doctor is gonna get real old real fast."

She peered down morosely at the clumps of whipped cream she couldn't reach, and gave up on it, dropping the otherwise empty cup to the floorboard.

The man's eye twitched again. "I'm not yet sure if I even want to _keep _you," he hissed. "So I'm not giving you that information, _Subject B."_

She mulled it over briefly, an inkling of hope rising that she wouldn't soon to be a murder victim – but didn't let those hopes get too high.

The girl shrugged and slumped against the door again. "Fair enough."

She went quiet. It wasn't much longer before her stomach began to turn. Her mouth watered, precursor to the inevitable. "Yo, Doc, you need to pull over."

"Not a chance," he replied, oblivious to her nausea.

"No, really—" The first dry heave – she doubled over, head between her knees, and she clasped her hands tighter in the cast and tried to focus on that rather than the nausea stirring up her insides. _"I'mgonnabesick,"_ she gasped. The breeze from a cracked window chilled her clammy skin.

_"What?"_ the man practically shrieked. And by a stroke of luck, he didn't take her warning as a bluff, but the swerve of the car crossing lanes and onto the gravel shoulder nearly made her lose her stomach contents on the floorboard. He leaned over to shove her door open in time for her to lean out to hurl. Her seatbelt was all that kept her from falling out.

The man was cursing and complaining behind her as the chocolate milk was evicted.

Eventually, she sat back in her seat and wiped her mouth on her arm with a miserable groan. Throwing up was decidedly worse than spitting fire, not that she was keen on doing either again terribly soon.

"You lied about lying, didn't you?" accused the man. She glowered over to him, no longer keen on conversation. He'd taken off his glasses to rub his eyes, and she sensed he was close to blowing up. He barely kept a lid on it.

_"No,"_ she croaked, and squirmed in her seat to sink down in her mortification and misery. "I just haven't eaten in…a while."

She could feel eyes scrutinizing her. "Are you anorexic or did they just not feed you?"

"It was by choice."

_"Why?" _The man shook his head incredulously and waved a hand to dismiss the question. He unbuckled himself and twisted around to shuffle on the floorboard in the back. "I think I have some water around here somewhere…"

The girl eyed him with a grimace of disgust, leaning away from his shoulder nearly touching her, but as she was glaring, her seatbelt caught her attention – the red release button, specifically. It was worth a try. And if it proved futile then there was no harm in it – so without giving it another moment of consideration, she shoved her plaster-bound conjoined fists down on the release a couple of times before he could even notice her wriggling. The man was too busy rummaging through junk in the back, but he must have heard the _click._

The seatbelt snapped off her, and out the door she went.

She became instantly aware of the lack of strength in her legs. She took two strides and fell to her knees, crying out at the sharp gravel digging into her. But she hefted herself back to her feet nonetheless – because what other option was there? – and willed herself to ignore the rocks underfoot as she ran down the highway with vain hope someone would see her plight.

Dry grass was whipping at her shins, and she turned to glance back to see if she was being pursued – and suddenly – suddenly she was falling again, and it wasn't unreliable legs failing her this time. She hadn't been looking where she was going.

The black ground took a sharp dip downhill and she lost her footing with a shriek, tumbling down the embankment. The world spun round and round until finally she slid to an eventual stop. She may have stopped, but the world was still spinning.

Dizzy, nauseous, and aching all over, she lie face-down in the dry grass to catch her breath, foxtails caught in her torn dress and smears of fresh blood hot and wet and unmistakable on her skin. With a groan, she got her knees and elbows under her, and heaved herself onto her back instead only to cringe upon the discovery she must have received more scratches and scrapes there too.

If she was cursing out loud, she couldn't even hear it.

The girl closed her eyes for a moment, mentally preparing herself to get back to her feet, though the very thought of continuing made a twisted ankle throb.

She felt herself slipping away from the miserable waking world just as a light shined over her, and all at once she remembered that she was fleeing for her life. She tried to roll to her feet, but her breath caught at the sharp pain in her ankle and she fell back once more with a whimper.

The source of the light reached her then, and then an arm around her waist was dragging her up and pulling backwards. She screamed, but there was no one listening for desperate cries above the traffic, not even a single porch light to be seen anywhere in the darkness ahead of her. There was no help coming for her.

"Let me go! _Let me go!"_ she howled, writhing. Her shrieks for help into the night were answered only by annoyed grunts and huffs of exertion as she was hauled back uphill. The flashlight was dropped, rolling down the steep embankment, and a hand clapped over her mouth. She bit it with the hope of taking off a finger, but he freed his hand and held her mouth shut with a nearly crushing force so she couldn't get find the same leeway a second time. She tried elbowing him in the stomach, tried being a dead weight, but nothing was working. Her cheeks were wet with tears now that _being kidnapped_ was a reality setting in all over again with full force.

When they reached level ground, the man changed his hold, dragging her by a wrist instead. She didn't have much choice but to stumble along after him and her stupid cast. He was rushing her to the car he'd parked at the top of the embankment. She was stuffed inside before he stopped to give her a once-over. His face twisted, and he gestured to the fresh scrapes and bruises, and then down to the traces of blood smeared on his suit, and said nothing as he shook his head and slammed the door.

She almost punched through the window with her encased hands, and maybe she should have, but he'd hopped in behind the wheel before she could, and then he was flooring it.

She went quiet, fighting back tears. She drew up her knees and tried not to look too hard at the grit caught in her cuts.

She wasn't expecting him to laugh. She shot him a heated frown, her eyes stinging with hot tears as he gouged a metaphorical knife deeper into her. What a—

"You must feel pretty stupid," he guffawed.

_Jackass. _"Fuck you."

"Hey, that's _adult_ language, kid," he jeered. "Ah, I'm kidding. Have at it while you can. Don't suppose you have much longer to anyway."

Her eyes went wide. She tensed, heart hammering. Was that a death threat? "What do you mean? What are you planning to do with me?" she demanded once more. It wasn't idle chitchat this time, and her desperation and panic leaked through.

_"Calm down. _Nothing yet." He gave her a side-eye, his delight in her suffering beginning to wane. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Don't know what?"

"You think I don't know _anything_ about you," he stated, smug.

"But you didn't read my file—"

"Not all of it, no, but I did skim it." The man chuckled sickeningly, and he shot an ugly albeit unhappy grin at her. It was more of a grimace. "Reportedly, Subject B is liable to breakdown in a matter of years, maybe months, due to erratic behavior and something about recoil damaging the subject during the transition. Whatever that means." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"So what are you saying? It's gonna kill me?" She was clammy again. This day was just getting better.

The man shrugged. "Well I don't know what exactly _it_ is yet, but I'm sure I can figure it out." He didn't sound so sure. He fixed his eyes back on the road.

The girl swallowed back bile. She looked to the dirty lump of plaster her hands were bound in and began to regret not cooperating with the researchers. Maybe they really were trying to help? Help find a way to keep her from destroying herself maybe, or find a way to remove her freakish glow altogether.

If those had been the _good guys,_ she shuddered to think what _bad guys_ were like. _Real_ bad guys. Not this loser driving a secondhand rust bucket – not that he didn't pose a sufficient threat to her at the moment. So far, this particular wrong-doer wasn't a whole lot worse than the researchers. Just a little ruder and grumpier and smelled like pickles rather than hand sanitizer.

She snorted in disdain and slumped against the door once more, sick again but not quite on the verge of upchucking. _He's just trying to scare you,_ she told herself, internally repeating the mantra.

The night was soon filled by radio static. The stations came in poorly, but her captor didn't seem bothered by the crackle. She watched his fingers tapping to the beat of hits from yesteryear, the same sort her dad listened to. They were still good tunes, but she couldn't find the pleasure in it in a situation like this.

Her eyelids became heavy once more, but she was determined to keep her guard up. It was thanks to that determination that she spotted a road sign for a familiar history museum she'd once been to on a field trip. Her heart leapt and she perked up, twisting to watch the sign disappear into the dark behind them. For the moment, her fatigue had lifted some.

She furrowed her bow as she gauged how far away she might be from home. It seemed they might actually be heading _toward _Go City, which gave her a fleeting flicker of hope. She didn't dare ask to confirm, just in case he changed the route.

She didn't manage to keep her mouth from asking other questions though. "Where are you taking me?" she said, and became immediately aware how much energy it took just to work up the nerve to speak when she yawned.

"Mind your own business."

The girl groaned. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees. Crusty damp cuts from her earlier tumble brushed against her lips, drawing her attention, and after considering it long and hard, she eased her boredom with what might boarder on self-mutilation. Her toes curled on the edge of the seat at the sting as she picked out grit from the cuts and scrapes on her knees with her mouth – since she'd lost the privilege of having the use of her hands.

It took the man a minute and a double take before he reeled, the car swerving. _"Augh!"_ he squawked. "Are you _chewing_ on yourself? That is disgusting! Were you raised by _animals?"_

Before he could go on, she spat a bloody pebble at him, which _tinked_ off the window instead. "Mind your own business."

He made a noise like he was about to vomit, but regained his composure, or tried to at least. "Just – ergg – stop – stop that right now. I order you—"

"Or what, you'll kill me?"

"There are things worse than death—"

The girl snorted. "Don't I know it. I spontaneously combust and burn myself alive sometimes," she sneered. "Try again."

Her captor jerked back away from her as if it were a threat. "Y-you do?" he stuttered, and tore his eyes back to the road. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He muttered something under his breath, but all she caught was _"recoil."_

She rolled her eyes. "You think I gave myself a buzz cut on purpose?" She kicked her heels up onto the dash, crossing at the ankle, and sank down lower in the seat with a sour grunt. She noticed the man was watching her again, and she almost folded her legs back up.

He hummed. "It looks fine," he said, almost as if to reassure her. "A little choppy. Could use a wash," he added.

She huffed and stared out the window, but was met by her own reflection glaring back at her. She turned her stare straight ahead instead, but was faced with _bad decision_ written all over her legs in the form of scratches, bruises, and dirt.

"My hair used to be longer," she grumbled, something ugly bubbling up in her chest. "My mom used to help me brush it." There was lump in her throat she wanted to blame on the collar practically gagging her.

The man stole another glance. "Odd."

"What?" she gritted out.

"Nothing." His gaze was fixed firmly on the road, mouth zipped shut for a solid three seconds. "Just odd."

"What's odd?" groaned the girl impatiently, and held up her cast in a meek gesture with her hands. "The igniting thing or – or what?"

"The having long hair."

"What's odd about that?"

"It's just odd for a boy."

She stared, dead silent. Even the radio seemed to have cut out. She stared for several long moments, her face scrunching in disbelief. How this idiot had the competence to infiltrate her initial captor's research center and snuck out with her remained to be seen. It must have been sheer dumb luck.

"Um." She blinked. Looked down to her knees, and her chest. Back at him. "Does the dress say nothing to you?" she asked tersely.

"It's more of a hospital gown, really," he said, utterly missing the point.

_"I'm a girl,"_ she blurted. In hindsight she considered that maybe she shouldn't have brought that to his attention.

His eyes locked on her for an uncomfortably long minute, studying her, but thankfully not staring at her body so much as he was reading her face. She squirmed under his skeptical stare. "Are you sure?"

In perhaps any other situation under the sun, the oversight might have wounded her ego. But as it was, she was too incredulous to be stung. If her hands were free, she'd be rubbing her temples. She decided to appreciate that he had the decency not to gawk at her, though she still wished she could cross her arms over her chest to cover herself.

Her unobservant kidnapper focused back on the road. "This keeps getting better," he grumbled, not sounding particularity pleased with the new information.

The girl tensed when he reached under his seat. She braced for the worst – a gun, chloroform, a mix tape – but he pulled out a water bottle, cracked the seal, and held it out to her. She stared at it for a second, baffled, and took the offering awkwardly between her wrists before he could revoke the generosity.

"Don't _guzzle_ it," he all but begged.

She barely managed not to dump it on herself and was tempted to ignore the warning. The cool liquid washing down her throat brought little relief, but a little was better than none. Resisting the impulse to down the entire bottle was easier said than done, and she lowered it reluctantly. Her stomach didn't particularly like it, but she'd have to tough it out.

She sighed miserably and turned her head toward the driver, mustering up the energy to put on a suspicious scowl. "Hey, Doc? If you're a bad guy, why are you being nice to me?"

"I'm not _nice._ I need Subject B alive, and frankly," he glanced to her again, "you look like you have one foot in the grave. You say you did this to yourself? _Willingly?_ Are you insane—"

"I was trying to make them let me go," she explained as she slumped to the window. "And if they wouldn't, I wasn't going to let them have whatever I have."

"They would have still had your cadaver," he reminded.


	3. Chapter 3

Last chapter. Is it too late to mention there's blood and injuries in this?  
Anyway I had a bloody fun time with this. Hope I'm not the only one.  
Angst is my favorite flavor.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Shortly after midnight, fatigue had caught up to the captive again. She had slipped into a deep sleep a while ago. The captor had tried waking her earlier to tell her to scram, but the comatose minor hadn't budged. So he'd sat there for a while at the vacant rest stop, thinking in silence before making his decision.

Impatient to make use of his time, the kidnapper now knelt uncomfortably passenger-side with a knee on the floorboard, sawing at soggy plaster with a pocketknife. It was no surprise the girl was in and out of consciousness now, but she was unresponsive, utterly helpless if not completely oblivious to her surroundings.

He was crazy. He told himself so. This wasn't the destructive force he'd been banking on. This was some girl that needed to be nursed back to health in a hospital bed somewhere. He had to be honest with himself. He wasn't equipped to handle a hostage, and he'd be damned if he'd be held accountable for her condition, or worse, her death.

He was glad the captive was asleep and couldn't agree with his grumbles.

The cast was a lot more hollow than expected, and with leftover bottled water to soften it, it was almost a piece of cake to saw through it with the little pocketknife. Avoiding jabbing her was the tricky part. The plaster was weak enough that she could have busted it to pieces, but it didn't surprise him she hadn't tried. There couldn't have been a whole lot of fight left in her. He supposed she'd probably figured it was a waste of energy. It _had_ surprised him that she'd made a break for it earlier, but if he had to guess, it had taken everything she had left to do so. It was noticing a new dent in the cast, received in her tumble down the embankment, which had spurred this stupid impulse idea of his in the first place.

That, and he'd finally come to terms with his regrettable decision and decided he wasn't cut out to cater to a hostage in dire need of medical attention.

When he cracked the cast open like a walnut, he saw why the plaster had become thin. It was charred and blackened inside. The man scrunched his nose at the burnt odor emanating from the shell. The girl hadn't exactly smelled of flowers before, but the new smell made him recoil. He covered his nose with his sleeve, grimacing in disgust at the sight as he leaned back in to take a closer look.

He tentatively unfolded her clasped hands, and his stomach did a queasy flip-flop as her blackened skin cracked with the movement. With hands so blistered and discolored from burns, it would be a wonder if Subject B didn't have gangrene. If he didn't know she'd likely done this to herself, he would have jumped back in fear the open sores were contagious.

She made a small noise in her sleep and her freed fingers twitched, which was more than enough to send him jumping back to a safe distance anyway. When she didn't stir again, he returned with caution, kneeling back in the car, tentatively taking a second look at her palms. _"Yow,"_ he hissed. It was still as bad as it looked the second time. _"You'll _never have to worry about leaving fingerprints."

But upon closer examination, the blackened skin was flaking away, not unlike a shedding reptile or the ashen remains of burnt pages. _Biological changes_ crossed his mind and he wondered if he'd seen that in the file somewhere. He regretted dropping the clipboard with her summary on it in the parking lot at the research center earlier.

He wasn't sure what he thought he was doing by bothering to remove the cast. It would have felt wrong to leave the kid bound up, but from his standpoint as an aspiring rogue, shouldn't cruelty have been a good thing? She was probably just as helpless given the present condition of her hands, but it had to be better than shoving her off with them still cemented together. She could at least use a payphone now to call her folks or someone.

He didn't have to remove the collar, but his hands were moving on their own accord before he could think it over. He'd already searched the remote for a _release _feature earlier when he'd pulled into the deserted lot, and now he was searching the obedience collar itself for a button or a keyhole or _something_ with no such luck.

The knife wasn't particularly sharp, but it still made him a little squeamish as he put his knee up on the edge of the seat and brought the blade to the interlocking mechanism in the front to begin prying the collar apart.

He was too focused on not letting the knife slip to notice the change in her respiration, or her fingers beginning to twitch at the feel of fresh air. The knife was wedged firmly in the collar, threatening to bend and break on him, when he noticed the captive swallow. And like a fool, he ignored it.

The girl was coming around sluggishly. Her hands found each other before she could panic over not feeling her fingers woven. Sensations trickled back.

Cool air. Stillness. Distant crickets and traffic.

Something jiggling around her neck.

_Pickle breath._

Her eyes cracked open.

She blinked lazily at the head hovering too close, but it took a few more blinks to comprehend a furrowed brow and grit teeth and – this person was too close if she could smell their breath – and – were his hands on her?

She started to stiffen up, needles running up her spine.

_"Shit!"_ the man hissed through his teeth in the instant there was a snap and a jerk on her neck, and she caught a glimpse of something familiar and shining that screamed _danger_ in her brain.

She acted before she could feel her body.

Practically spring-loaded, her arms and legs shot out, one hand snapping out for the man's pocketknife and the rest of her flailing feebly. She'd barely noticed she'd snatched it from him – thrashing was more important as he grappled with her to reclaim the knife, demanding she stop being a pill and give it back. She hardly heard him above her own deafening screams. He leaned into the car after her when she tried to scramble back, and used his weight to his advantage, kneeing her cruelly in the stomach as she bent back across the seats to hold the weapon out of his reach. She almost threw the knife but didn't know where to.

She decided right then that if he wanted it, he could have it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and lashed out with it, throwing all her limbs into the game of fighting back – and within a couple swings, his scream was cutting through her own as the knife connected with something soft and hard at the same time, and it slipped out of her grip, and then she was fighting against nothing.

Within seconds of jumping on her, her attacker had retreated.

Chest heaving, she scrambled back into the driver's seat as the man collapsed outside, howling. She felt for the key in the ignition, but it was gone – she didn't know how to drive anyway – and felt blindly in the dark at the door at her back to find the handle. She fell out and practically hit the ground running.

"I knew you were more trouble than you were worth!" shrieked the man some distance behind her.

Far enough in fact, that it felt safe to slow down to steal a glance back. She couldn't have made it more than a hundred feet when she paused and doubled over, hands on her wobbly knees to catch her breath and stare quizzically back at the man.

He wasn't running after her. Wasn't hopping in the car in hot pursuit or to run her down. Wasn't doing anything other than sitting on the ground by the car, pawing at his face.

He howled again, and the knife was thrown to the asphalt. He sat there, rocking, holding his face in his hands.

What littered the ground around him caught her eye.

The girl swallowed and reached for her neck, the absence of the collar finally drawing her attention. She glanced around, gathering she was at some rest stop or park area, the sparse lamps illuminating just one vehicle in the whole lot. Rubbing her throat with a now-free hand, she narrowed her eyes at the broken collar and discarded remains of the cast on the ground around the man. She took a second look around – there for sure wasn't anyone here, not even any truckers on break. He could have done whatever he'd wanted and there was no one to hear her scream or witness a body being discarded, so why would he choose to take off the restraints, of all things?

Her legs were shaky and protested as she cautiously approached.

Her captor was still sitting on the ground when she stopped a good ten feet away. He was still rocking himself. He was hyperventilating through his teeth now, blood seeping between his fingers and down his jaw as he held a hand clamped over his eye. The dark trail stained the collar of the white dress shirt beneath his jacket.

"Why would you—," she began, but his good eye snapped open and he exploded at her.

_"Get out of here already!"_ he roared.

She took a hasty step back, her fists clenching and reflexively growing hot in defense. The man was clearly done with her, and it couldn't be in her best interest to hang around pressing her luck. But as she scanned the deserted park and across to the silent road up a distant embankment, she wasn't so sure she wanted to be left here. She had her freedom, but there was nowhere for her to go except the road to start hitchhiking.

At the moment, that thought scared her more than the wounded young man moaning and groaning on the pavement.

The passenger door slamming made her jump. He'd gotten up off the ground, and was hobbling around the front of the car, and then throwing himself down into the driver's seat.

The girl was back at the passenger side to peek in when suddenly the engine roared and the lights flared on. She jumped back as the car began to reverse out of the parking space. "Hey!" she called, taking long strides and then running, exerting herself to keep up as he began to roll away. _"Wait!"_

The car stopped, but not for her. He was shuffling in his glove box for a handkerchief. With the overhead light illuminating the interior, she could see a considerable amount of blood getting smeared across everything he touched. She threw a glance over her shoulder – the pocketknife gleamed in the lamplight behind her.

He remembered about her when she rapped her knuckles on the glass, but only spared her a passing glare out of the corner of his eye.

"You're just going to leave me out here?" she demanded.

He slammed the glove box shut. A hanky pressed to one eye, his other glared darkly out at her, boring into her for a moment before he threw himself back in his seat and grabbed the wheel with one hand. "Everyone for themselves," he retorted, muffled through the glass.

"So that's it?" she said, still baffled there was no catch. "No ransom? No evil plot to harness my—"

"Would you _beat it?"_ he snapped at her, seething. He checked the rag again – yep, still bleeding – and began to drive away. He was still too distracted with dabbing at his eye to drive particularly fast or straight, staying just ahead of her but far enough.

"The least you can do is give me a lift to the next town, you jackass!" she shouted after him, failing to keep up.

"You attack me when I'm helping you and then think you're entitled to a _ride?"_ he shouted harshly out his window.

"Well I'm not afraid of you now!"

Her kidnapper floored it, leaving her in the dust.

She stopped running, chest heaving, lungs aching, legs about to crumple under her weight. Her shoulders hung in defeat.

Suddenly there was a squeal and she wasn't watching the red glow of taillights anymore.

Suddenly he was driving straight at her and she was a deer in the headlights. And then there was another squeal, and the smell of burnt rubber filled the air, wind whipping at her grungy gown, and she blinked away the spots speckling her vision to stare at the car that had circled precariously close in a sharp U-turn around her.

The passenger window rolled down and he was leaning over into the passenger seat to glare out at her with one eye, teeth bared, blue handkerchief soaked through with a deep black stain. "Say that again? I didn't quite hear you," the man ground out through his teeth. He looked livid. He was trembling.

She opened her mouth to repeat herself, but he stomped on the gas, the engine revving. She was intimidated, sure, but she didn't budge. She curled her fingers into fists, feeling warmth blooming around her hands. "I said—" the engine interrupted again. She grit her teeth in turn. "I said," she shouted, "_I'm not afraid of you!"_

He sat back, his brow furrowing for a second, and shook his head. "How about I give you a reason to fear me?" he spat at her. His voice wavered.

But she brushed it off. How much worse could things get? So she'd struck a nerve and he'd used the car as a mere scare tactic. He could have run her over. He could have done a number of things – cruel things – besides taking off the restraints while she was unconscious. He could have left her to die in that research center, or dumped her body in a ditch somewhere by now if he was that malicious. He wasn't one to be trusted, per se, but he did present a ride out of this island of light in the sea of dark. Given the choice between this failure kidnapper and hitchhiking – she'd take her chances.

"How about this," she bargained, grabbing the half-open window. Her hands heated until a faint emerald glow emitted from them like little tongues of flames – and for the first time it didn't burn the dickens out of her. She recovered from the baffling realization quickly, glaring back at the ill-tempered man. "I'll let you go easy if you give me a ride out of here."

He didn't say anything. The man just stared at her, or rather at her hands, and then his jaw went slack. He was starting to breathe funny. Even the look on his face was weird. Ignoring her, he sat back in his seat and inspected the handkerchief again. Before she could demand his attention, he swayed drunkenly.

She jumped back when he slumped forward, falling face-first into the steering wheel, the horn giving off a jarring blare that split the night and silenced crickets.

The wary girl opened the door, deciding that if this was some kind of trap, she had the firepower to make him regret it. Kneeling in the passenger seat, she shoved his limp body back off the horn, but not without some trouble. Either he weighed more than she expected or she was weaker than she'd expected.

The man flopped back, head lolling, and blinked incoherently. The rag had fallen away, revealing the deep gouge down around his eye socket and over his cheekbone, and she felt the guilt grip her stomach for a split second before he regained some of his senses and swatted her away.

The car lurched suddenly as he put it in gear to circle back toward the restrooms at the far end of the park, parking carelessly across multiple spots. He fumbled with the key in the ignition and plunged them into shadows as the overhead light went out when the engine cut off.

"Dude, I think you need a doctor," she noted uneasily, and then he was opening his door and falling out of it in a heap.

The man groaned wretchedly and picked himself up. "I. _Am._ A doctor," he ground out strenuously, using the car to support himself as he made his way toward the trunk.

The girl met him there as he was fighting with his keys to unlock it. "Drop the charade," she scoffed, mocking now that he was the one in a position of weakness. "Need me to phone an ambulance?"

He granted her no reply, but she was sure he flipped her the bird.

When the trunk finally opened, she stood aside, trying not to look at the blood dribbling steadily down his face. She swallowed bile. She'd done that. She'd really done that.

She watched him rummage through his belongings in search of something. Clearly the guy lived out of his car. She felt a twinge of pity, but not much. If he was willing to abduct people he thought could be used as a weapon, then he probably deserved it.

Her heart jumped when she spotted a couple of peculiar guns of some kind among the mess of clothes, maps, and jumper cables – but he didn't grab them, locating a first-aid kit instead.

She raised her brow as he slammed the trunk, and watched him skulk away with the white box to tend to himself in the men's room. He even shot a frown back to make sure she wasn't following, to which she held her hands up innocently.

She wasn't eager to follow him in there anyway. Her business was with the set of wheels. So while she had the chance, she went back to the passenger seat to wait so he couldn't ditch her.

As she sat sidelong, toes on the cold asphalt, she studied her hands.

The healing burn blisters still stung. But the fire, when she called upon it and focused on drawing it into her palms, didn't make them sting any more than they already did. She tried feeding the flames to produce more than just a thin layer, but the effort was exhausting, and with a sigh, she extinguished the green fire at will and hung her head. She'd have to try again when she was feeling better.

She was tired and sore, and sitting round feeling sorry for herself was going to get her nowhere. She was going home, and no one – no research team, no failure kidnappers – was going to stop her.

Not far off, the evidence of her captivity caught her eye once again. Namely a little red light.

Her loser kidnapper had the keys, so she made a mental note to learn how to hotwire should she ever find herself needing the skill again. The phony doctor was still busy in the men's room. She could hear his angry indecipherable griping even at a distance and deemed it safe to leave her ticket out for just a moment.

She hadn't been imagining it. On the collar, centered at the back of the broken ring beneath a little antenna, a little red dot blinked lazily up at her. She narrowed her eyes at it, her stomach sinking. A signal. It had to be. It indicated _something,_ that much was sure.

It seemed important, something worth bringing up to somebody. Acting on impulse with collar in hand, she took a couple steps to go tell the only somebody available before she paused to reconsider. She smirked deviously to herself, contemplating planting it on him, maybe slipping it under the seat if it was, in fact, a tracking signal sending out a ping. But she reconsidered again, torn. Kidnapper or not, he had sprung her out of the joint and then set her free.

Getting shanked in the face was probably payback enough.

She didn't owe the bastard anything, but she didn't know how long they'd been here either. And if that research committee or whatever had anyone out looking for her, she didn't want to hang around for much longer.

She kicked something on the way to the lavatory. She gave the bloodied pocketknife a passing glance, and went back for it after a few steps. If her fire wasn't up to par and ready for a fight yet, then passing up the opportunity for a second weapon at her disposal would have been foolish.

The pocketknife was slick and sticky with blood, but she tried not to think about it.

The girl was reassured it was a smart idea to grab it when a sudden howl of pain echoed from the restrooms, followed promptly by the telltale shattering of glass. Her heart thundered in her chest. She held the blade behind her back as she approached, hearing the clinking and slide of glass inside, and the man's grumbles, some sharp hisses, more pathetic whining.

She knocked lightly at the open door. There was a frustrated grunt, and she got the hint she was receiving the cold shoulder when there was no other reply.

"Hey, uh, Carrie. How's it going?" she called in tentatively.

It seemed she had a knack for pressing buttons, and smirked to herself when the cold shoulder relented. "That isn't my—," he began furiously from inside, but cut himself short. "Oh." There was a roar of frustration and she hazarded peeking in. He caught sight of her in the mirror through broken crooked glasses, and spun, throwing bloody bath tissue in her direction only for the wads to flutter to the floor like sad butterflies. "Why are you still here? _Scram!"_

He turned back to his reflection, working on mending his swollen cheek.

She almost threw up upon realizing he was crudely suturing it himself. The smell of antiseptic was suddenly pungent. She turned her gaze sharply away to some graffiti on the wall instead as she stood in the doorway. "You should hurry it up," she warned coldly.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Fine, but if they bust you, it's not on me." She shrugged nonchalantly, turning the knife over in her hand behind her back.

His glare relaxed slightly as he weighed her warning for a second. Through the mirror, his eyes darted to her. "They? They, _who?_ Global—?"

"I'm pretty sure I was bugged with a tracking—"

His face scrunched in another glare he was forced to smooth out in order to hastily finish stitching. "Oh great. Just great," he groused, his face inches from the mirror. He tied off the thread and threw the needle down. "Nothing ever goes my way."

"Well, _sorry,"_ snorted the girl as he began angrily throwing things haphazardly back into the first-aid kit in the sink. "I didn't plan on blowing my summer vacation on being abducted by lab geeks and then again by a loser."

He grumbled a series of curses to himself as he gathered a few tissues off the floor to dispose of them in the trash can. "You are more trouble than you're worth," he reminded curtly as he shouldered his way through the door past her. _"Goodbye."_

"Smell ya later," might not have been the correct response, but it was what shot out of her mouth as she watched his back.

The kidnapper might have been her ticket out of the desolate rest stop, but she couldn't make her feet move. Under a nearby shelter with one flickering overhead light were vending machines, a park bulletin board, and a payphone of questionable functionality.

"Hey!" she barked after the man, and his pace slowed briefly, sparing her a second to hear her out. "Can I get some quarters to call my mom?"

The man was halfway to his car when he paused fully. He reached up to rub his eyes only to flinch. He shook his head and continued on. She took that as a no, but cut across the grass in a beeline for the bulletin board anyway, hoping to find anything that could tell her where she was.

Before she reached it, the beep of a car horn gave her a start. Quick and intentional, unlike earlier when he'd fainted on the horn. He was waiting with an arm hanging out the window, engine idling. She made her way over to little blue rust bucket and he presented a handful of loose change.

"Don't make me regret this," he said.

"No promises."

He pulled back the change, narrowing his eyes, one of which was bruising badly and almost swollen shut. _"Promise."_

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine. I promise. I'll even lie and say you had a bag over my head the entire time."

The man wasn't convinced. "You're crossing your fingers behind your back, aren't you?" he guessed.

She wasn't eager to prove him wrong, but he waited. With great reluctance, she extended the pocketknife to relinquish it in trade.

"You were planning to stab me again, weren't you?" he balked, an edge of fear in his tone.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "Just take your stupid Boy Scout knife and give me the money."

He grunted irritably and made the swap. "Not a word," he said, pointing sternly at her as he put the car in reverse.

Zipping her lips and throwing away the imaginary key, she gave the kidnapper a small wave before turning her back to him as he sped off.

She counted the change in her sore palm as she trudged back up the grassy rise to the desolate payphone, and she did cross her fingers, begging higher powers that not too much had changed in the past few months, phone numbers in particular. To her relief, on the last ring, she heard her big brother's voice, and then he began screaming for their dad.

Within the hour, a helicopter was whirling overhead. Strange men in hazmat suits who came to collect her were bombarding her with questions when they were interrupted moments later by the family station wagon careening into the rest area like a bat out of hell, her mustachioed father wasting no time in diving out and barreling his way between the men who claimed to have custody of her. The paternal force of nature nearly launched himself into a brawl to fight for "custody" with brawn alone.

Her dad was followed by two of her brothers, the eldest of which joyfully throwing his arms around her while the runner up brother tentatively patted her back and smiled with misty eyes for a change.

"We thought we'd never see you again!" said someone, she was too fatigued to be clear who.

She'd begun to think she wouldn't them again either. It was a relief to see _Subjects A_ and _C_ truly had been released for good behavior. If only she hadn't been so hazardous and noncompliant, she could have joined them sooner.

"They said you weren't doing so hot in there."

"We heard the effects were making you really sick."

She didn't have it in her to argue that. "Not so tight!" she wheezed, discovering bruised ribs quite abruptly.

"Oh – sorry," apologized her big brother, setting her down. He laughed and flexed an arm. He looked like he'd put on some muscle, but he was still rather spindly for sixteen. "Don't know my own strength yet." His smile faltered. "Sis – are you – _whoa!"_

She stumbled back into her younger brother, who yelped and strained to hold her up even as light as she was. The teen and preteen boys exchanged glances and looked across to their father still arguing with the agents, and then she was swept off her feet bridal style by her brother to be toted off to the car.

Before the agents could notice her missing, she was snuck into the back seat with her little brothers. The sleeping toddlers were enough to make her raise a brow. She didn't have the chance to ask why they'd been brought along.

"What happened to you?" asked the oldest of her younger brothers, squeezing into the seat with her and clipping the belt over the both of them.

She'd heard of a growth spurt but wasn't sure what to make of the opposite. Unless _she'd_ had a growth spurt – which was doubtful. She squeezed her eyes shut and blinked hard, deciding maybe she was just tired and lost a grasp on how much of a little brother he was.

"Long story," she said, sinking back and letting her head fall on his bony shoulder. "Maybe later."

Her big brother took shotgun, as usual when their parents didn't have both front seats claimed. "Looks like Dad's signing papers," he announced. "Release forms probably."

She supposed so as she peered out the window, watching their father pass the papers back. The men went their separate ways, the agents returning to their helicopter and their dad returning to them.

"Congrats, sis! Looks like you're no longer a detainee." Her big brother flashed a dazzling smile back at her and reached over the seat to hold out a fist for her to lightly tap in turn. "Took long enough."

"Yeah," she muttered, her gaze falling over to her baby brothers.

Their dad climbed in. "All set," he said gruffly, and paused before he buckled his seatbelt. "Anyone need a bathroom b—"

_"No,"_ came the groan from the boys.

But she caught herself staring off toward the restrooms. There was blood in there. Broken glass. And there didn't seem to be anyone doing an investigation here. Not that she was about to complain. It just meant she was keeping true to her word.

They hit the road. She almost nodded off against her brother's shoulder again, but after several long minutes of everyone holding their tongues in uncomfortable quiet time, she fixed her eyes on the back of her big brother's head and then looked over to their father. He didn't seem particularly overjoyed to see her despite how quick he'd been to fight for her, but he was nothing if not emotionally constipated. Still. Her stare drifted over to her sleeping twin brothers. She couldn't fathom why they were on board tonight. They should be home in their cribs.

"Dad?" she called up, breaking the silence. "Where's Mom?"

The air became brittle, more so than before. Her brothers tensed, the younger's wide eyes darting over to her and then back out the window. A feeling of dread grew rapidly like a rolling snowball in her belly as her heart sank. How much more could have changed in the last few months than a meteor and superpowers?

* * *

Aaand that's a wrap! Reminder, the story continues in _The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie_ and _The Company You Keep._  
Peace out and try not to stab anybody.


End file.
